


test run

by whiplash



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Gen, M/M, aaron's hoodie, but if there is, liv the puppet master, robert's quiet aneurysms, she's going to fix it, there's nothing wrong with Liv's brother, trigger warning: aaron's entire backstory, trigger warning: self-harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 23:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7778188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiplash/pseuds/whiplash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You going running again?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	test run

“You going running again?”

It's a stupid question. He's all kitted out in his running gear, ear buds hanging around his neck and his phone strapped to his arm. Of course he's going running. It's just that he went running yesterday too, didn't he? And she'd sorta assumed, or hoped, or whatever, that tonight he'd stay home.

At her words, Aaron stops in the middle of the room. His face does a complicated thing, mouth twisting and eyebrows knitting together in a frown. He shifts his weight, from one foot to another, and stares towards the door before turning back to her.

“I was just gonna stretch my legs,” he says. “But I can stay in. If you want the company.”

In response she shifts over, making room for him on the sofa next to her. He's fidgety, the way he gets sometimes. Chewing on his nails and jiggling his legs. It's annoying, is what it is, but instead of telling him to cut it out, she leans into him. He doesn't smell too good – some mix of engine grease, sour beer and Robert's nasty aftershave – but he's warm and solid.

And he's hers. Her big brother.

xxx

Robert does a double-take as he comes home, his lips pressing tight like they do when he's fed up with her but doesn't want to risk opening his big gob and upsetting Aaron. It hasn't been like that between them for ages now but, even so, the look raises her hackles. She sneers at him, the action born out of old habit, but Robert just gives her a confused look.

Then he turns his unhappy face towards Aaron.

“A couple of times a week,” he says, his voice bland in a way which means that he's secretly livid.

Aaron doesn't reply, just crosses his arms over his chest and sinks deeper into the sofa.

“No more than a few miles each time,” Robert continues. “You'd pace yourself. That's what we agreed on. That's what you promised me.”

“You're not the boss of me,” Aaron snaps back. But even as he lashes out, he looks right guilty, shoulders all hunched up and his fingers ripping at the hem of his sleeve. “Besides, I'm not running today, am I? I'm just sitting here. Watching telly. _With Liv._ ”

Only no one's really watching telly anymore. Liv hasn't got the slightest idea of what's going on, but she's still settling in to watch the show playing out in the living room. Robert looks like he's having a quiet aneurysm and Aaron's ears have flushed an angry red.

“Fine,” Robert finally says. “But don't think for a moment that we won't be talking about this later.”

“Can't wait,” Aaron quips, making a face at the telly.

xxx

The next day Aaron goes for a run before tea. He comes back sweaty and shaky, leaning hard against the table as she pours him a glass of orange juice. So much for pacing himself, she thinks with a smirk. It's sorta disappointing that Robert's not here. If there's one thing she's sure of, it's that it does him good to not get his way all the time. Keeps his head from swelling and all that.

"Just water will do,” Aaron pants.

He looks a real mess, face all red and blotchy. There's mud splattered all over his trainers and he smells like wet dog. And Liv, well, she's never been a dog person. Never been one to follow instructions either. 

“Pretty sure you could do with the sugar,” she counters, wrinkling her nose at him as she slides a glass across the table. Her brother catches it, only fumbling a little as he chugs the juice. Some of it trickles down his chin and he wipes it away with his sleeve before turning his head to burp.

“Gross,” she complains.

xxx

“I don't get it,” she tells Chas. “You wouldn't catch me running unless something was chasing after me.”

She doesn't time her words quite right. Chas has already started to leave, a tray of pints in her hands. But even with her back turned, Aaron's mum's dead easy to read. Her shoulders tense. Her breathing hitches. The tray even wobbles.

“Aren't you supposed to be in school?” Chas says, just a bit too loud.

And just a bit too late.

xxx

“Helps clear my head,” Aaron explains.

It's not one of his running days. He's curled up next to her in the sofa, her feet in his lap and a big bag of crisps between them. Robert's sitting by the table, angrily tapping away at his keyboard. A bad day at work, or so Aaron's told her in a hushed voice. That's why they're keeping the volume down on the telly. And eating crisps for tea.

“When I'm running, I don't think of nothing else.”

He smiles at her, all sheepish-like. Like maybe he's ashamed of needing that. Like maybe he thinks that Liv doesn't get it.

“Perhaps I should give it a try then,” she says, even though she can't think of anything worse. She hates the dark forest with its muddy tracks, hates the feeling of her new teenage body bouncing when she as much as jogs to catch the bus, hates the very thought of going through town all sweaty and stinky.

From across the room, Robert snorts. Like maybe he's a mind-reader, after all.

“Maybe,” Aaron hedges. “We'll see.”

xxx

Then, on Saturday morning, Aaron comes home mud-stained and limping.

“Don't start,” he says to Robert, who's jumped to his feet and looks like he's having yet another one of those quiet aneurysms. “I've followed all your stupid rules like a good boy, haven't I? I slipped, that's all. Could have happened to anyone.”

Robert doesn't reply.

xxx

They fight later, when they think Liv's out but she's actually just hiding in her room.

The stuff they say, it doesn't make much sense to her. She hugs a pillow close to her chest and tries to piece it all together. Robert sounds more scared than angry. Aaron's... all over the place. One moment he's lashing out, the next he's making promises. Strange promises that make Liv's tummy hurt. In the end, they kiss and make up. Or, well, some Robert and Aaron version of it which involves wordless whining and muffled grunting as the bed creaks for a good hour. Liv puts on her headphones and tries not to think of all those ugly lies her dad told her about Aaron.

There's nothing wrong with her brother.

( _Right?_ )

xxx

“What's wrong with Aaron?” she asks the next morning, cornering Robert in the bathroom.

He opens his mouth to lie. To manage her like he does his business and Aaron and everything else. But she has him figured, she has him _well_ figured, and she beats him to it.

“If you don't tell me then I'll just ask him.”

“Maybe you better,” he bluffs.

In the village they say he got away with murder but Liv can't believe it. Not when it's so damn easy to see the desperation in his eyes. To see the gears shift in his head as he tries to come up with a way out. To her, Robert Sugden's an open book.

So, she doesn't back down. Not an inch.

“Alright,” he says. “Alright. But not here.”

xxx

“It's like he said,” Robert explains. They're drinking coffee. There's syrup in hers, sweet and sticky in her mouth. “Running clears his head. Helps him cope. It's not a bad thing.”

“Which is why you're giving him such grief over it,” Liv says. “Yeah, tell me another one.”

Robert picks at the paper cup. It's an Aaron thing to do, with all his restless energy and constant fidgeting. Robert's not like that. Except for now, apparently. Liv wonders what that means. If it's a tell. Or if it just means that, sometimes, even Robert feels out of his depth.

“Your brother's just... he hasn't quite figured out how to take care of himself,” he says, the words coming slow like he's struggling to find the right ones. “I'm not giving Aaron grief over running, Liv, I'm just trying to keep him from pushing too hard. A while back, he had a bad fall in the forest. No need for history to repeat itself.”

And he's telling the truth but he's still lying. Leaving out the important bits. She just knows it.

“Besides, if it wasn't the running,” Robert says, staring down at his battered cup, “then it would just be something else. Better the devil you know, right?”

He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

xxx

Adam's next. She goes there straight after her talk with Robert, making sure that she arrives before her brother.

“Aaron hurt himself running,” she announces. 

“What?” he says, blinking and fumbling with his hammer. “What happened? Is he alright?"

Liv fills him in, keeping her eyes on him as she speaks. If Robert's an open book, well, then Adam's the front page headline of a trashy magazine.

"So, Robert knows, yeah?" he asks and, at her nod, he exhales slowly. Shakes himself, like a dog after a rain storm. He pats her on the shoulder, leaving dark smudges on her school uniform, and continues: "Then it'll be alright. Robert will sort him out.”

He sounds confident enough, but his smile's not quite right. Not all puppies and sunshine. Liv grits her teeth.

xxx

“Aaron hurt himself running,” Liv says again. This time to Chas.

“I know,” she answers. “Robert already told me.”

Chas hates Robert. Hates him like Liv used to back before she realized that Aaron had enough love for both of them. Back before she realized that while Robert didn't, he'd still always treat her right for her brother's sake. But when it comes to this – whatever this is, this thing that Liv can't put words to yet – the two of them, Chas and Robert, they're allies. It scares her, it does. Makes her palms sweaty and her chest tight. There's nothing wrong with Aaron, she tells herself again even though, by now, she knows it's a lie. Biting down on her bottom lip she grimly changes her mantra to: _there's nothing wrong with him that_ _can't be fixed._

“They had a big row about it,” Liv says, playing it like she's just complaining. “And then they made up. It's gross. I'm scarred for life.”

“You really need to stop eavesdropping,” Chas tells her. “It's an ugly habit.”

Liv shrugs and picks up her phone.

Pretends to be checking Facebook, when she's actually just watching Chas work herself into a state. It's too easy, she reflects as she sneaks a peek at the older woman. Like stealing sweets from a toddler. In the end, Chas doesn't last more than a couple of minutes. She comes back, two glasses of fizzy orange in her hands and a fake smile on her lips.

“Go on then,” she says. “What did they say?”

Liv makes a show of hesitating. You know, just for long enough to make it look real.

xxx

“You're right nosy, you are,” Aaron tells her.

He's not limping anymore, but he doesn't put his full weight on his bad foot either. Sorta leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and his voice stern and adult.

“Don't know what you're talking about,” she says, doing her best to look bored.

“You've been interrogating my mum. And my best mate. And Robert.” He sounds, for a moment, almost amused. “You know, you're really not half as clever as you think you are.”

“Well, at least I'm brighter than you,” she snarls back, pride damaged and heart aching. “'Cause you're the real idiot here, aren't you? You have to be to get yourself hurt all the time. To have everyone worried sick about you like you're some dumb kid.”

And then she's pushing past him, storming down the stairs and out in the street.

xxx

“Classic Liv,” Gabby says, sounding impressed.

“I shouldn't have said that,” Liv mutters.

They're sharing a glass of stolen whiskey. It burns going down her throat. Makes her eyes tear up.

“Well, it's sorta true, innit? That's what everyone says, anyway. That he hurts himself. For, you know, attention.”

“He doesn't,” Liv hisses at her. “It's not like that.”

Gabby shrugs.

xxx

She sleeps at Gabby's place, then goes straight to school in a borrowed uniform. There's a constant ringing in her ears. At the end of the day, she's not even sure if she's been going to the right classrooms. It's Robert who picks her up outside the school. Robert who scowls at her and ushers her towards his car. Robert who notices how badly she's shivering and drapes his coat around her shoulders before pushing her into the backseat and buckling her in like she's a little kid and he's her dad or something.

“Don't run off again,” he orders. “You had us all dead worried.”

Liv scoffs and stares out through the window.

xxx

Aaron knocks on her bedroom door.

He fills up the entire doorway, yet somehow manages to look smaller than ever. It's the way he hunches in on himself, she decides. Like he's trying to take up as little space as possible. He's wearing one of those ratty hoodies again, the hood pulled over his head and the sleeves pulled over his hands.

“Sorry,” he says. He sounds tired. Like maybe he didn't sleep all that well last night. “I didn't mean to upset you.”

“Pretty sure I'm the one who's supposed to be apologizing,” she mutters. “And I am. Sorry, that is. For what I said. And if I had you worried.”

"'Course I was worried. I didn't know where you were, did I?" He stops, takes a deep breath. "But you're back now. That's what matters. And well, I'd ask you not to do it again, but-"

He'd been a teenager once too. Worse than her even. Or so they all claimed.

"I could promise to always come back?" she suggests while staring down at the floor.

It's a stupid thing to say. And she sorta hopes that he'll think it's a joke. Or some dumb compromise to get him off her back.

"Yeah," he says instead, sounding shaky and grateful. "Yeah, all right. That'd be nice."

xxx

“How can I take care of you if I don't know what's wrong?” she asks later.

They're sitting shoulder to shoulder on her bed. She's tucked her knees to her chest and Aaron's wrapped an old crocheted blanket over her shoulders. The question just bursts out of her, pushing through her throat and past her lips without her say so. It's the wrong thing to say. She knows that even before she feels Aaron stiffen up beside her. Even before he gets off the bed and sinks down to his knees right in front of her. He looks serious. The way he had when he first told her that he loved her. When he told her that he forgave her. When he told her that she could stay.

“You don't need to take care of me,” he says, his voice impossibly soft. “That's _not_ how this works, Liv. You're the kid. I'm the adult. I take care of you, not the other way around.”

That's never been her reality. Never been his either, as far as she can figure.

“And who takes care of you then?” she demands, refusing to play along with him.

“Robert. My mum. Paddy. Adam. Cain and the rest of the family."

Jealously swells inside of her. It's an ugly feeling and she knows it. She ought to be happy for her brother, not get stuck on how the only name on her list's Aaron. 

“I don't understand why Robert gets to help you when I don't,” she mutters, turning her head to wipe her eyes on the corner of the blanket. It's scratchy and stinks of dog. A Dingle blanket, she thinks with a flash of anger. A stupid Dingle blanket.

“Robert will be turning thirty soon,” Aaron says, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close. “You're not even sixteen, Liv. You can't blame me if I want to protect you from... ugly things.”

“I know about Gordon,” she hisses. “I know what he did to you. How much uglier can it get?”

Aaron doesn't answer.


End file.
